


Pizza Day

by DarkWiccan



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Elementary School, Challenge Response, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-13 09:52:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11757339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkWiccan/pseuds/DarkWiccan
Summary: Little Willow Rosenberg makes a new friend.Spoilers: None.





	Pizza Day

**Author's Note:**

> Special Thanks: to @Laragh for proof-reading and encouragement.

 

 

**Sunnydale Elementary School 1987**

**September.**

**Tuesday.**

**Lunchtime.**

 

The diminutive form of pig-tailed, 5-year-old, Willow Rosenberg – dressed in pleated, purple corduroys, a rainbow-striped turtleneck and aquamarine Velcro-clasp sneakers - made her way through the hot lunch line, clutching her tray - loaded with chicken nuggets, mashed potatoes, a fruit cup and carton of chocolate milk - close to her body. The tiny ginger’s green eyes glanced about nervously as she scanned the cafeteria, looking for a safe place to settle and eat her lunch. A sigh of relief shuddered through her wee frame as her gaze fell upon the shape of her best friend Xander Harris, waving at her eagerly from several tables away.

 

“C’mon, Will,” he shouted over the din of the dining hall. “I saved you and Jesse a seat!”

 

She made her way to her friend’s table, sliding onto the round seat next to his. Xander nodded, his attention elsewhere. He waved again, this time hollering, “Jesse! Over here!”

 

The other dark-haired boy caught his eye and bobbed his head in recognition, meandering over and slipping into the seat across from Xander. “‘Sup, dude?” he asked smoothly, opening the brown bag containing his lunch and pawing inside to pull out a small Tupperware container of… something. Willow guessed some kind of ambrosia. “Did you come prepared,” Jesse asked, waggling his eyebrows.

 

“Um, yeah,” Xander replied, as if it was the dumbest question ever. He cracked open the clasp of his metal He-Man lunchbox and pulled out the thermos. Popping off the drinking cup and unscrewing the pouring cap, he tilted the container Jesse’s direction so he could see inside. “Tapioca. My mom’s homemade.”

 

“Gross,” said Jesse, grimacing.

 

“I know!” answered Xander, “It’s perfect, right?”

 

“Perfect for what,” asked Willow, her face a mask of confusion. She picked up a chicken nugget and dipped it into the small paper cup filled with ketchup sitting on her tray. She bit into it as she watched the boys pull their Trapper Keepers out from their backpacks and set them on the table.

 

“You’ll see,” said Xander, eyes full of mischief. He and Jesse both opened their binders and pulled out sheets of paper – each with a crudely drawn target (with numbered values written into the rings) in the center. They both slipped their papers into the clear window on the front of their binders and stood them up on end, balancing them on the table top. “Ready,” asked Xander, reaching into his lunch box and pulling out a plastic spoon.

 

“Ready,” said Jesse, following suit and drawing his own spoon from his brown bag.

 

“Are you gonna do something bad,” the small redhead asked, her expression anxious and worried. “‘Cause I don’t want to get in trouble.”

 

“Nothing bad,” said Jesse. “Just fun.” He opened his container and spooned up some of the fluffy mixture inside.  He lined up with the target on Xander’s binder, pulled the head of the spoon back and released. It sprung forward, hurling its contents at the target, where it hit the outside ring with a satisfying “phwap”.

 

“Yes!” shouted Jesse, “Five points!”

 

“Psssh,” mocked Xander, “Five points. Big whoop.” He loaded his own spoon. “Let me show you how it’s done.” He readied his aim, pulled back the spoonhead, and let fly. The pudding struck, “THWAP”, right in the center of the target. “Yea-YUH! Twenty points! Bullseye on the first shot!”

 

Jesse rolled his eyes and peered over the lip of his binder at the target. “Nuh-uh. Ten points, dude.”

 

“What? No way!”

 

“Yeah way. It might have hit in the center, but it slid down to the middle ring. And the points are for where it ends up, not where it starts.”

 

“Aw, man, c’mon,” Xander whined.

 

“We agreed, dude,” Jesse replied, his six-year-old face stern.

 

“Yeah, I know,” sighed Xander. “Ten points.”

 

They both picked up their napkins and wiped their boards clean.

 

“You guys are going to get in so much trouble,” warned Willow. “You’re not supposed to play with your food.”

 

“Why not,” countered Jesse. “It’s our food.”

 

“You’re supposed to eat your lunch, not throw it,” she said.

 

“This junk?” said Xander, “No way! It’s totally…um….indelible.”

 

“Inedible,” corrected Willow, rolling her eyes.

 

“Yeah, that,” continued the boy, “it’s only good for one thing – target practice.”

 

As if to demonstrate the point, Jesse flung another spoonful of goop at Xander’s target. It hit, “SHMAT” again on the outermost ring. “Ha! Another five points. All tied up, dude.”

 

“Yeah for, like, two more seconds,” said Xander, refilling his own spoon with tapioca.

 

“If you guys don’t quit it, I’m going to move,” warned Willow.

 

“So, move,” said Jesse dismissively, not noticing the young girl’s face fall. Xander’s second shot struck his binder. Bullseye, and it stuck. “Dude, nice…,” disappointment evident on his face.

 

“Ha-HA!” exclaimed Xander, doing a ‘Stayin’ Alive’ finger-point dance in his seat. “30-10! One more bullseye and I win!”

 

Willow ignored them, craning her neck to look around the lunchroom for another seat. The only one available was over at Cordelia Chase’s table, and she knew better than to try. But then, something caught her eye. A face she didn’t recognize had entered the lunchroom. A girl, small like her, but with blonde hair that was falling in front of her face. She wore a denim jumper over a light-yellow t-shirt and was clutching a brown paper lunch bag to her chest nervously.

 

“Who’s that,” asked Willow.

 

“Who’s who,” Xander replied, his eyes locked on Jesse as the boy lined up his next shot.

 

“That girl,” she clarified.

 

“What girl,” asked Jesse, readying his spoon to hurl another gob of ambrosia.

 

Taking advantage of the opportunity to interrupt the boys’ game before they all got in trouble, she reached her arm between the pair, effectively blocking Jesse’s shot, and pointed. “That girl there.”

 

The two boys sighed in defeat and directed their attention toward where Willow was indicating.

 

“Oh,” said Jesse, “she’s new. She’s in my class.”

 

“Is she nice,” asked Willow, pulling her arm back.

 

“I dunno,” Jesse answered with a shrug. “She’s just some girl.”

 

Willow watched the girl shuffle awkwardly through the lunchroom, in search of a place to sit. The boys went back to their game but, oddly, Willow didn’t seem to notice them or care. She was focused entirely on the little, blonde, stranger.

 

“She looks lost,” she said, after a moment.

 

“Who does,” asked Xander, distractedly.

 

Willow rolled her eyes. “The new girl, duh.”

 

“She’s in the lunchroom at lunchtime,” said Jesse, “I think she’s ok.” He flung another spoonful at Xander’s binder. SPLATCH! “Yes! Bulls-eye! Tied up again, dude!”

 

“Pssh, doesn’t matter,” scoffed Xander, “I’m still going to win on the next shot.”

 

“Guys, she doesn’t know where to sit,” Willow interjected. She watched anxiously as the girl’s eyes darted about, looking for a spare seat. When the girl started to move toward Cordelia’s table, Willow leapt up from her seat, knocking into Xander and causing him to miss his shot – the pudding splattering onto the tabletop in front of Jesse.

 

“Ah man, Will!” he complained.

 

“She’s gonna try to sit at Cordy’s table! I have to stop her! They’ll eat her alive!” The redhead scrambled quickly, rushing between the tables and dodging other students, an in effort to head the blonde off before it was too late.

 

It was too late.

 

The new girl had already made it to Queen Cordelia’s table and it looked like she was half-way through asking to sit down. Willow was still a good distance away as the perfectly appointed brunette rose from her seat to face the interloper head on.

 

“Look,” said Cordelia, flicking her long brown tresses behind her shoulder with a practiced air, “I know that you’re new here so I’m going to be nice.”

 

“Um, o-okay,” said the blonde, looking down at her feet and taking a step toward the free seat at the table.

 

Cordelia sidestepped in front of her, blocking the path. “Whoa, what do you think you’re doing?”

 

“S-s-sitting?”

 

“Suh-suh-suh-sitting?” Cordy echoed, mocking her mercilessly. “And what gave you the idea that was ok?”

 

“T-to be n-nice?”

 

“Nuh-nice? Oh, nuh-no. That’s not what I meant by being nice. I meant that I was going to **nicely** tell you that this is the winners table,” she crossed her arms in front of her chest and looked down her nose at the blonde, “and there is nuh-no way that **you** are a winner.”

 

“Hey!” shouted Willow, arriving out-of-breath, at the new girl’s side. “There you are!” She watched the girl look up at her, wide-eyed and confused. “We were going to sit together, remember? Over there? Way over there?” She pointed back to the far side of the cafeteria where Xander and Jesse were still flinging food at each other.

 

“Oh, yeah,” said Cordelia, rolling her eyes. “That makes sense. The losers table. Nice pants, Rosenberg. Where’d your mom get them, K-Mart?”

 

“Sears,” Willow answered defensively.

 

“And you think that’s better?” the brunette scoffed.

 

“C’mon,” said Willow, tugging on the blonde’s elbow. “Let’s go sit down.” The girl obediently followed.

 

“Buh-bye, nuh-new girl. Have fun with the luh-losers!”

 

The small entourage of other girls at Cordelia’s table laughed approvingly as they walked away. The pair remained silent until they arrived back at the table with the boys.

 

“Here, you can have my seat,” said Willow, pushing her tray to the side. The girl didn’t say anything, merely sitting down and gingerly placing her paper lunch bag on the table in front of her. She kept her head down, blonde hair draping her face from view.

 

“So, um,” continued the redhead, unsure, “this is Xander,” she thumbed his direction, “and that’s Jesse,” she said, pointing at the other boy. “We’re all friends.” She paused a moment more before asking, “What’s your name?”

 

“T-t-t-t…”

 

“Tara,” said Jesse, not looking up from his target as he aimed his spoon. “Her name’s Tara. Mrs. Pickens introduced her to the class this morning.” He let his glob of ambrosia fly at Xander’s binder where it smattered dead-center. “YES!” He jumped up from his seat, pumping his fists in the air. “IN. YOUR. FACE!”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” sighed Xander, “It’s just one game. I’ll get you the next round.”

 

Jesse continued his victory dance, now adding his own version of the Seagull’s “I Ran” to his celebration. “And I woooon, I won so hard todaaaay. I just wooooon. I just won, in your faaaaace. You couldn’t win, no way!”

 

“Mr. McNally.”

 

Jesse froze at the sound of the adult woman’s voice behind him. He slowly turned to see the owner of the voice standing over him.

 

“And Mr. Harris,” she said.

 

“Hi Principal Vance,” said Xander, adopting as happy and innocent a voice as he could. “I like your scarf.”

 

“Thank you,” said the older woman, her tone making it obvious that she wasn’t going to be distracted by flattery. “Can you explain this… mess?”

 

The boys looked down at the piles of soiled napkins and splats of food covering the table between them.

 

“Uh…”

 

“We were gonna clean it,” Jesse offered up quickly.

 

“Yes,” agreed Principal Vance, “You will… and not only this mess… you will clean the entire lunchroom.”

 

Both boys went completely pale.

 

“The entire lunchroom?” squeaked Xander, “But that’ll take FOREVER.”

 

“And, and we have class,” Jesse argued lamely.

 

“I’ll explain the situation to your teachers,” said the principal, “I’m sure they’ll be happy to make note of any classwork you’ll need to make up.”

 

The boys slumped down into their seats, defeated.

 

“Come on, you two,” she said, curling her finger toward herself in ‘follow me’ gesture. Both boys sighed and dragged their bodies up from their stools.

 

“Will,” said Xander, looking despondently over his shoulder to her, “if I don’t make it back…tell my mother I loved her.”

 

Willow rolled her eyes and shook her head at him. Once they were out of sight, Willow sat down in Xander’s vacated spot, shoving the dirty napkins and pudding goop to the other side of the table. She reached over Tara (noting how the girl shied away) and grasped the edge of her lunch tray, sliding it over in front of herself.

 

She poked at the breaded chicken. “Urgh, nuggets are cold,” she grumbled, “it’s ok, they’ll still taste good.” She looked at Tara. “What did you bring?”

 

The blonde opened her bag and pulled out a cling-film-wrapped peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a small juice box… and nothing else.

 

Willow’s face adopted a worried expression. “Is that all?” The tone of her question was clearly one of concern and not mockery.

 

“D-Donny took the rest,” Tara said so softly that Willow had to strain to hear.

 

“Who’s Donny?”

 

“B-big brother.” She began to unwrap her sandwich methodically, as if drawing out the process somehow made the meal more substantial.

 

“Well, here,” said Willow, picking up the sealed container from her tray, “you can have my fruit cup. I don’t want it.”

 

Tara kept her eyes turned downward, embarrassed. “N-no, that’s o-ok.”

 

“No, really,” the redhead insisted, “it has strawberries in it, and I don’t like them. But if you like them, you should eat it.” Seeing the girl next to her wasn’t likely to budge, she added, “It’s only on my tray because it came with the lunch. I don’t want to waste it. My mom says that wasting things is like being ungrateful.”

 

Tara finally peaked up from behind her curtain of hair, a small smile on her lips. “M-my mom s-says that, t-too.”

 

“So, great,” said Willow, cheerily, “our moms agree… you should eat my fruit cup.” She slid it in front of the girl.

 

Tara picked it up, delicately. “Thanks.”

 

Willow smiled and took a bite of chicken nugget, chewing it thoughtfully as she watched the other girl tuck into her sandwich. She opened her chocolate milk and took a sip, to wash the chicken down.

 

“So, you’re new,” said Willow, “where did you come from?”

 

Tara finished her bite of sandwich and followed it with a drink of juice. “Texas.”

 

“Oh, wow,” said the redhead excitedly. “Texas? That’s so cool! Is your dad a cowboy? Were you born on a ranch? Why don’t you have an accent? Can you herd cattle?”

 

Tara was a bit overwhelmed by the cascade of questions and wasn’t sure what to start with. “Um… we w-weren’t there long.”

 

“Oh,” asked Willow, popping the remains of the nugget into her mouth and cheeking it, “how come?”

 

“My dad is in the Air Force,” answered Tara, “we move a lot.”

 

“So, not a cowboy,” joked the redhead, “where were you born?”

 

“G-Germany.”

 

Willow’s eyes went wide. “Can you speak German?” She was thrilled beyond reason at the possibility and beamed when the new girl started to giggle.

 

“N-nein,” she replied.

 

“Nine what?”

 

Tara giggled some more, and covered her mouth with her hand. After a moment’s recovery she explained, “‘Nein’ is German for ‘no’.”

 

“So, you can speak German,” Willow asked, “No, wait… you said ‘nein’ which means ‘no’… but you said it in German so…. I’m confused.”

 

Tara giggled again and blushed. “I d-don’t. I know a little. W-we left Germany before I learned to t-talk. D-Daddy won’t let Mama teach me and Donny anything but English.” Off Willow’s confused look, she continued. “Mama’s from Germany.”

 

“But speaking another language is so cool!” Countered the redhead, “Why won’t he let you learn?”

 

Tara curled in on herself, uncomfortable with the question. “D-daddy d-doesn’t speak German and he g-gets upset when he d-doesn’t know wh-what she’s saying to us.”

 

Willow took this in. She wondered why Tara’s dad didn’t just learn German, too. But she could tell that her questions were making the new girl upset, so she decided to save them for later.

 

“So, what words do you know,” she asked. “Other than ‘nein’?”

 

Tara peeled the clear cover off the fruit cup and picked out a piece of pear, popping it into her mouth. She chewed and swallowed while she made a mental list of the words she knew. She actually knew quite a few, her mother would speak German to her when they were alone; but she was used to it conversationally and not simply plucking words out here and there.

 

“Um… ‘ja’ means ‘yes’. ‘Gut’ means ‘good’ and ‘schlecht’ means ‘b-bad’.” She shrugged and ate a halved cherry. “This is really good, th-thank you.”

 

Willow smiled. “I’m glad it’s ‘gut’. Did I say that right?”

 

“Ja,” Tara smiled back, covering her mouth again to stifle another giggle.

 

“What’s funny?”

 

“You h-have a chocolate m-milk m-mustache,” she answered from behind her hand.

 

Willow blushed and wiped her mouth with her sleeve. “Thanks,” she said.

 

“Oh,” said Tara, “here’s an-nother word… ‘Danke’ means ‘thanks’.”

 

“Danke,” echoed Willow, trying the word out.

 

“Bitte,” said the blonde, “that’s ‘you’re w-welcome’.”

 

Willow beamed. Another word. It was like another world opening up to her. “Danke, again,” she laughed.

 

“Bitte… again,” Tara giggled.

 

The bell rang, startling them both. They hastily started packing up. Willow grabbed a few of the napkins left over from Xander and Jesse’s earlier mess and piled them onto her tray to bus.

 

“Aren’t your f-friends supposed to do that,” asked Tara.

 

“There’s still plenty of mess for them to clean up, trust me,” said Willow. She scanned the cafeteria and pointed to the far corner, “there they are, see?”

 

Tara looked and had to stifle another laugh when she saw the two boys decked out in hair nets, aprons and giant plastic gloves, wiping down tables and shoving trash into bags and looking all-together miserable. Meanwhile, the girls made their way to the exit, where the trash bins and tray bussing stations were.

 

“You wanna eat together tomorrow,” Willow queried hopefully.

 

“Mm-hm,” Tara nodded.

 

“Ok, cool!” said the redhead, tapping her tray into the waste can and then stacking it. “Same table, ok? See you then!” She dashed off through the doors.

 

The little blonde stood somewhat dazed by Willow’s sudden departure, unsure why she had to leave so quickly. Just as she was gathering herself together to head back to class, a blur of rainbows and red hair suddenly rushed back into her space.

 

“Hey,” said Willow, “how do you say ‘see you later’ in German?”

 

“Oh,” said Tara, eyes wide at being overtaken so abruptly. “Um… I d-don’t know.” She cringed as she saw Willow’s face fall. “B-but, I can ask Mama tonight.” Tara couldn’t help but smile as the redhead brightened-up again.

 

“COOL,” Willow practically yelled, her enthusiasm bubbling over into excitement. She took off back down the hall again, waving over her shoulder. “Danke, Tara!”

 

Tara gave a tiny wave back, and hugged her arms around herself happily, before heading into the hall and back towards Mrs. Pickens first grade classroom.

 

 

**Wednesday.**

 

“Thundercats, HO!,” bellowed Xander as he played with his Lion-O action figure on the lunch table. He’d brought it for show-and-tell and hadn’t stopped playing with it at every opportunity. “Thundercats, HOOOOO!” He said again, swooping the figure over his lunch box and having it land on the edge of the lid.

 

“We get it,” said Jesse, annoyed. His “show and tell” item was his Dad’s bowling trophy, which had seemed so cool before, but now paled in comparison to Xander’s new toy. “Thundercats, ho. Can you stop now?”

 

“No,” Xander replied, haughtily. “‘Eye of Thundera, give me your power!’” he crowed, hoisting the toy up over his head. “‘Sword of Omens, do not fail me now!’ Oh, hi, Will,” he said, dropping his ‘Lion-O’ voice, as his friend sat down. “And Tara,” he nodded, acknowledging the newcomer. He waited until they were both seated to continue. “So, Will, you’re coming over to watch Thundercats after school, right?”

 

“Why do you even ask,” Willow replied. “I always come over on Wednesdays. I always come over every day until my parents get home.”

 

“What’s Th-thundercats?” asked Tara.

 

Xander’s expression was one of profound shock. “You don’t know about Thundercats?” He watched Tara duck her head and shake it, shyly. “It’s only the bestest, most awesomest, coolest cartoon ever!”

 

“Nuh-uh,” countered Willow. She regarded Tara seriously, “Sword of She-ra, that one’s the best. Oh, and Inspector Gadget.”

 

“Inspector Gadget,” scoffed Jesse, “Lame-o!”

 

“Nuh-uh,” Willow deftly rejoined.

 

“Are these tv shows,” asked Tara.

 

“Yeah,” said Xander.

 

“Oh…,” answered the blonde, “we d-don’t have one.”

 

Jesse dropped his sandwich. “You… you don’t have… a T.V.?”

 

“W-w-w-w…” she gave up, her head dropping onto her chest.

 

“Hey,” said Willow, placing her hand on her harm, “it doesn’t matter. My mom says TV rots your brain, and she’s a psychologist, so she knows. It’s good that you don’t have one.”

 

Tara smiled gratefully at her new friend. Taking another breath, she tried to explain again. “W-we do have one…but it’s daddy’s. We aren’t allowed.” She fiddled with the edge of her lunch bag. “He w-watches sports and stuff on it. In the garage.”

 

The foursome went quiet for a few moments. They all muddled around with their food, eating a few bites silently.

 

“Tara’s teaching me German,” Willow announced, disturbing the quiet and waving a fish stick excitedly.

 

“You speak German,” Jesse asked, genuinely impressed.

 

“N-not really,” said the blonde, “a f-few words.”

 

“Know any bad ones,” inquired Xander with a wicked glint.

 

Tara blushed and shook her head, ducking it down again.

 

“Did you ask your mom how to say ‘see you later’?” Willow was practically vibrating with excitement.

 

“Mm-hm,” she nodded, thinking back on how worried she had been about Daddy catching her asking, or Donny telling on Mama. “Sh-she said it’s ‘bis spӓter’.”

 

“‘Bis spӓter’,” echoed Willow. “Did I say it right?” Tara nodded encouragingly. “Cool.”

 

“Hey Willster,” said Xander, speaking around a mouthful of ham sandwich, “doesn’t your grandma speak German or something?”

 

Tara’s eyes widened at this. Could Willow have just been pretending to be interested?

 

“No,” said Willow, “she speaks Yiddish. There are some German words in Yiddish, but I don’t know which ones. The only Yiddish words I know are ‘Oy gevalt’ and ‘essen’ and ‘fressen’…oh, and ‘Bubbe’, of course, because that’s Yiddish for grandmother.” She started to take another bite of fish stick, then stopped. “OH! And ‘mazel tov’… that means ‘good luck’.”

 

Tara’s brow wrinkled. “Essen and fressen are German. B-but they mean the s-same.”

 

“What’s that,” asked Jesse.

 

“Eating,” answered the blonde.

 

“Why do you need two words for the same thing,” inquired Xander.

 

“They mean the same but in different ways,” explained Willow. “Bubbe says that ‘essen’ means to eat like a human and ‘fressen’ means to eat like an animal.” She looked to Tara. “Is that right?”

 

“I th-think so,” she nodded, a little unsure. She took a bite of her sandwich (peanut butter and jelly again) and chewed thoughtfully. After swallowing she asked, “So… are you J-Jewish? Jewish people speak Yiddish, r-right?”

 

“Yep!” Willow answered happily. “How’d you know? About Yiddish being a Jewish thing?”

 

“M-my Mama’s g-grandfather was Jewish,” explained Tara, feeling more and more at ease. “But he m-married a g-gentile… so Mama’s mother w-wasn’t.”

 

“What’s a ‘gentile’,” asked Jesse.

 

“Anyone who’s not Jewish,” answered Willow. “Are you guys excited about tomorrow?”

 

Jarred by the sudden change in subject, Tara found herself having difficulty switching gears. “Wh-what’s tomorrow?”

 

“Art Day!” announced Xander. “I hope it’s something cool this time and not stupid kite building again.”

 

“You’re just upset ‘cause yours didn’t fly,” said Jesse. “I told you it needed a tail.”

 

“No, I told him it needed a tail and you backed me up,” corrected Willow.

 

“Whatever,” shrugged Jesse, “it still needed a tail.”

 

“A tail would have ruined the… the… ascetic,” argued Xander.

 

“Aesthetic,” Willow corrected him.

 

“Yeah,” he said, “that.”

 

“What’s ‘Art Day’?” Tara interjected.

 

Willow bounced happily in her seat. “Every other Thursday your class and my class join up for art class with Miss Koontz! She’s the BEST.”

 

“She’s ok,” said Xander.

 

“She’s super nice,” Willow went on, “and pretty, too. She has blonde hair and blue eyes… like you!”

 

Tara blushed and ducked her head. Willow grinned and started chomping on another fish stick. Looking down she noticed that the blonde only had a sandwich again. She picked up her pudding cup and spoon and set it in front of the girl, not saying anything. When Tara looked up at her questioningly, she merely smiled and took a drink from her cup of juice before turning her attention back to the boys.

 

“Hey, Xander, can we watch Square One after Thundercats today?”

 

The boy visibly shuddered. “What? No way! Silverhawks is on after!”

 

“But I want to find out what happened with Mathnet and the problem of the missing baseball! I missed it when it was on the first time! Come on, Xan, we always watch what you want to.” Willow crossed her arms and put on her best pout.

 

Xander looked at her with a pursed expression, and then sighed and rolled his eyes. “Ok, fine. Just this once, ok?” He took an orange slice out of a plastic baggy and popped it in his mouth. “How can you stand that show, anyway,” he asked, mouth full. “Don’t you get enough school in school?”

 

Jesse spoke up before Willow could respond, “That’s ‘cause Will’s a brain. The more school the better, right?”

 

Willow shrugged. “I like learning stuff.”

 

“M-me too,” said Tara, softly. Willow turned and beamed at her. “Are you g-good at math?”

 

"She's a wiz!" exclaimed Xander, "watch this: Hey, Will, what's 236 apples x 32 apples?"

  
Willow pondered a moment and answered, "7, 552 apples."

  
"W-Wow," said Tara, eyes wide.

 

“Mm-hm! It’s my favorite subject, next to learning computers. But we only get to go in the computer lab once a week and math is every day!”

 

“There’s a c-computer lab,” the blonde asked, wide-eyed.

 

“Yeah!” said Willow, practically falling out of her seat as she gestured wildly. “They just got them last year. It was on the news and everything! The mayor got some lawyers in LA to donate the money for them or something. Now all the schools in Sunnydale have computers! I think we’re the only school district in the state so far to do that which is why it was on the news.”

 

“There’s only three schools,” said Jesse, “it wasn’t that hard to do.”

 

Willow rolled her eyes. “There’s more than three schools.”

 

“Only if you count the private schools, and they don’t count for this,” he argued, shaking his head. “Besides, we got old, used, computers, anyway. The high school kids got the new ones with color TVs and everything.”

 

“Monitors,” corrected Willow, “when you use them with a computer they’re called monitors.”

 

“Whatever,” he said, “they got the color ones and ours are green.”

 

“I like green,” Tara interjected, “and, I’ve n-never seen a computer before. In p-person, I mean.”

 

“Really,” asked Willow, perking up. “Oh, I wish I could show you right now! They’re so cool!” She looked back to Jesse. “When does your class have lab?”

 

“Mondays.”

 

“Aw, you have to wait to next week,” said the redhead, turning back to Tara. “Bummer.”

 

“That’s ok,” said Tara. “I can wait.” Having finished her sandwich while the others were talking, she peeled the foil from the pudding cup and ate a small spoonful, smiling at Willow bashfully. The girl grinned back.

 

Suddenly another young boy dashed up to the table. “You guys,” he said excitedly, “Larry has the new Cobra Commander action figure! The movie one!”

 

“What?” said Xander, both aghast and amazed. “No way!”

 

“Yeah,” agreed Jesse, equally intrigued but playing it cool. “No way, they haven’t even come out yet.”

 

“Well, Larry has one,” said the boy, “he’s showing it to everybody at his table. Come on!”

 

Xander and Jesse gave a quick glance to the girls, and then took off with the boy to behold the new treasure.

 

Tara watched them go and then looked to Willow. “D-did you want to go see?”

 

“Hm? Oh, no… I don’t watch GI Joe,” she replied, “and I don’t play with action figures… much.”

 

“What about Barbies?”

 

Willow sighed. “I had one, but Xander stole it. And now my mom won’t let me have a new one. She says that Barbies ‘portray girls as unintelligent objects with unattainable bodies’ and she doesn’t want me to ‘be influenced by the outdated ideals of the patriarchy’.”

 

“Wh-what does that mean?”

 

The redhead’s face scrunched up. “I’m not sure yet.” She shrugged. “Anyway, I like playing with stuffed animals more.”

 

Tara smiled, “Me too.”

 

The sound of the bell startled them both. They slowly stood up, collecting their things and started walking toward the lunchroom exit.

 

“I’m, um,” Tara began, quietly nervous, “l-looking forward to having class w-with you tomorrow.”

 

Willow skipped a little at the declaration. “Me too! We should try and sit next to each other.”

 

The blonde found herself blushing again. “O-okay.”

 

Willow bussed her tray and stacked it. “See you tomorrow!”

 

“S-see you tomorrow,” echoed Tara as she watched the young girl race away down the hall.

 

 

**Thursday.**

 

Willow stretched her small upper body as tall as it would go as she strained from her table to see the students of Mrs. Pickens first grade class filter one-at-a-time to the art room. Finally, seeing the familiar blonde hair, then face, of her new friend, she started waving frantically.

 

“Tara! Tara! Over here!”

 

As usual, Tara ducked her head, not wanting to draw attention, but still scurried quickly to where the redhead was sitting, taking the chair next to her.

 

“H-hi,” she said softly.

 

“Hi,” Willow beamed back, bouncing in her seat.

 

“Okay, everyone, find a seat and settle down,” said the young woman standing at the front of the room.

 

“That’s Miss Koontz,” explained Willow. Tara nodded in understanding.

 

Miss Koontz was dressed in a flowing, floral skirt, a scoop-necked peasant’s blouse and what looked to be knee-high red-leather boots. Her finger nails were painted a bright, friendly, orange and her mid-length blonde hair fell in waves down her shoulders. Her blue eyes were kind and her smile warm and inviting.

 

She waited patiently for every student to find a seat, and for the room to grow quiet, before speaking.

 

“Well, hello, everyone,” she said, her voice low and sing-song-like.

 

“Hello, Miss Koontz,” the class replied as one.

 

“Is everyone excited for today?”

 

Scattered “yeses” filtered up from around the room.

 

“Good! I’m excited too, because today we’re going to learn how to draw faces. So, take a good look at the person next to you, because that’s whose face you’re going to draw.”

 

There were various whispers of excitement and disappointment.

 

Miss Koontz smiled and started to walk to and fro at the front of the class as she spoke. “The first thing you need to know is that when you draw or paint a picture of another person it’s called ‘creating a portrait’. Some of the most famous paintings in the world are portraits. Have any of you ever heard of ‘The Mona Lisa’?”

 

Various hands (including Willow’s) shot up.

 

“Good,” said Miss Koontz, stepping over to pick up a large art book from off the teacher’s desk. She opened it to a marked page and displayed a photo of the painting in question. “Then you know that this is ‘The Mona Lisa’. But what you may not know is that this painting is the most famous painting in the entire world.”

 

Several “wows” and gasps peppered the room.

 

“I wonder who she was,” Tara said so quietly that only Willow heard.

 

The redhead’s hand flew back up. “Miss Koontz! Miss Koontz!”

 

“Yes, Willow,” she replied.

 

“Tara and I want to know who she was.”

 

“That’s a very good question,” said Miss Koontz, “and interestingly, no one knows for certain. Most art historians believe that she was the wife of an Italian businessman who paid Leonardo Da Vinci to paint a portrait of her. But, there are others who think she was a model who Da Vinci was fond of. We don’t know for sure, yet. Maybe someday some new information will come to light and we’ll finally know the answer.”*

 

A murmur fluttered through the students.

 

“But let’s talk about the portraits you’re going to draw of each other today,” she said, switching gears. “Looking at this picture of the Mona Lisa, what sort of shapes do you see in her face?”

 

The class spent a few minutes talking about shapes and faces and Miss Koontz demonstrated how to draw a basic face using ovals and circles and then set the students on the task of drawing each other.

 

“Remember, everyone,” said Miss Koontz, “sketch with a pencil first, and then add your color.”

 

“So, should I draw you first or should you draw me,” asked Willow.

 

“Wh-why don’t I draw you,” said Tara.

 

“Ok!” the redhead answered eagerly. “How should I sit?”

 

Tara pondered a moment. “J-just face me, I th-think.”

 

Willow happily complied. Tara studied the redhead’s face for a few moments, and then turned back toward the table, picking up a pencil and hunching over the blank paper in front of her, and began to draw. She focused intensely, taking extra care with each curve and line. She paused a moment on a detail, and glanced back to where Willow was sitting. She looked at the girl for several seconds and then went back to work on her picture, giggling a little bit.

 

“What’s funny,” asked Willow.

 

“You’re… you’re b-bouncing.”

 

Willow instantly froze. “Oh, yeah… sorry… sitting still…it can be hard sometimes.” She gripped the side of her chair. “I won’t move anymore. Promise.”

 

“It’s okay,” said Tara, looking up at her, “I finished my sketch.”

 

“Lemme see,” said Willow, reaching for it. Tara swiftly flipped her paper over.

 

“N-not yet,” she countered, gently, “you have to do your sketch first. And th-then we have to color. Once it’s done, ok?”

 

“Ok,” Willow agreed easily. She watched as Tara turned to face her straight on. She lifted her right hand in a ‘thumbs-up’ fashion and winked her left eye closed, staring down the length of her arm with her right. Her tongue poked out the side of her mouth as she focused intently.

 

“Wh-what are you doing?” queried Tara, confused. “W-with your thumb?”

 

“It’s a thing artists do so they can…. So they can…,” Willow drifted off, dropping her arm in the process. “Actually… I don’t know why they do it.” She shrugged. She settled down and looked at Tara more closely, not noticing the blonde blushing under her scrutiny. Happy with the image in her mind, she set to work on her own drawing.

 

Tara watched her, and smiled to herself as she noticed that Willow poked her tongue out of the corner of her mouth when she concentrated extra-hard. Her new friend made her smile. She wasn’t used to friends. She wasn’t used to smiling. Except when she was with her Mama. Mama made her feel safe. Willow made her feel safe, too.

 

“Ok, I think I’m done,” said Willow, straightening back up in her seat. “You ready to color?”

 

Tara nodded and they both reached into the tubs at the center of the table. The containers were filled with loose color pencils, crayons, and washable markers. Willow grabbed a black marker and started tracing her outline. Tara spent several long moments rummaging in a bin, and finally pulled out a light tan crayon and a soft, pinkish, skin-tone colored one.

 

They worked silently, each fully focused on her work; occasionally dipping into the rubber tubs to seek out different colored crayons. Tara grabbed out several green crayons of varying shades.

 

“W-Willow?”

 

“Yep?”

 

“C-can I hold these up to your eyes? See which one m-matches best?”

 

Willow sat back and waited patiently as Tara held each crayon up, one at a time, by her eyes and compared. Satisfied, the blonde turned back to her work.

 

“Th-thanks.”

 

The redhead nodded and went back to work, tucking her right leg under her body and leaning forward over her art paper, her face inches away from the surface.

 

Tara noticed, and was too curious not to ask. “Why are you so close to the paper?”

 

Willow kept her attention on her work, answering absently, “Gotta get the sparkles in your eyes right.”

 

Tara flushed a deep red. “Sp-sparkles?”

 

“Uh-huh…” The redhead was too engrossed to notice the effect her words had on her friend.

 

“Alright, everyone,” announced Miss Koontz, “start finishing up. And be sure to write the name of the person you’re drawing and your name on your picture. For example: Colin is drawing a picture of Larry. So, he would write ‘Larry by Colin’ on his drawing. Ok?”

 

A scattering of “yeses” and “yes, ma’ams” or “yes, Miss Koontzes” floated up from the room.

 

Willow began scribbling furiously to fill in the last of her background and then grabbed a purple crayon to write ‘Tara by Willow’ on the bottom corner of her picture. “Done!” she barked, slamming the crayon down onto the table with a loud slap. Tara jumped at the sound and curled in on herself a little. This time, Willow caught the reaction. ”Oh, sorry,” she apologized. “Finishing work always makes me excited.”

 

“It’s okay,” said Tara.

 

“What about you,” Willow asked, “are you done?”

 

Tara nodded. “I th-think so. I just have to put our names on it.” She grabbed a dark orange crayon and wrote ‘Willow by Tara’ near the top and then sat back so that her friend could have a look.

 

Willow’s eyes went wide and her jaw dropped. “Tara! Oh my gosh! It’s so good! Wow!”

 

“R-really?”

 

“Yeah! You made my hair so nice and you even drew my freckles and they don’t look stupid.” The redhead’s face fell a little. “It’s way better than mine.” She put her hand on her picture of the blonde and pushed it away so it couldn’t be seen.

 

“Let me see,” asked Tara, “please?”

 

“No, it’s bad.”

 

“No, it’s not.”

 

“Yes, it is. Compared to yours.”

 

“Willow, please?”

 

The girl let out a long sigh and slid the paper over, promptly putting her face in her hands once Tara had taken the picture to look at.

 

Tara looked the artwork over, her expression sweet. “You drew all of me,” she said softly. “you drew my hands. I can’t draw hands. These are g-good.”

 

“Nuh-uh,” argued Willow, her words muffled by her hands. “The fingers are all different sizes. They’re terrible.”

 

“You made my eyes so p-pretty.”

 

Willow finally looked up, regarding the blonde incredulously. “What? No! They’re way too small. I made your head too big and…”

 

“This is the n-nicest picture anyone has ever drawn of me.”

 

Willow’s face scrunched up. “Well, that’s sad.”

 

“No,” countered Tara, “it’s sweet.”

 

The redhead’s features softened. “Really?”

 

“Mm-hm,” nodded the blonde, handing the drawing back.

 

“Oh,” said the girl, taking the paper and looking at her effort with new eyes. “Thanks,” she smiled and puffed her chest up a little.

 

“Alright, everyone,” announced Miss Koontz, “pass your drawings to the center to hand them in. Your teachers and I are going to post them in the hall so your parents can see them on parent/teacher night!”

 

Another mixed chorus of groans and cheers rose up from the class. Tara’s face went ashen. She didn’t want to share her picture of Willow. She wanted to keep it. The other kids at their table passed their drawings forward to where she was seated on the end. As slyly as she dared, she stacked the other pictures on top of her own and then carefully slid her drawing from the bottom and into her binder. Just then Miss Koontz stepped up to her to accept the drawings; Tara jumped slightly, but then handed the stack over.

 

The bell rang.

 

“Ok, have a good lunch,” said Miss Koontz as the students quickly grabbed their bags and binders and started for the door. “Thank you for your attention today.”

 

In the cafeteria, Tara waited for Willow as she made her way through the hot lunch line, and then the two girls made their way to the usual table, arriving before Xander and Jesse.

 

They ate quietly for a few moments when, finally, Willow spoke up.

 

“Hey, Tara, can I ask you something?”

 

“S-sure.”

 

“Well, um…,” the girl found herself suddenly nervous. “It’s my birthday this weekend, and my parents just re-did the basement – we even have a new couch – and um… can I invite you?” Willow continued before Tara could answer. “I’m having a party… it’s a sleepover…”

 

“Talking about this weekend,” asked Xander as he and Jesse plopped down.

 

“Um, yeah,” said Willow.

 

“It’s going to be awesome,” said Jesse. “You should totally come. We’re gonna eat candy and get headaches.”

 

“In the basement!” Xander added excitedly. “Is your dad gonna let you use his record-player?”

 

Willow nodded happily. “Yep! He even let me pick out my own record at the store last week.”

 

“Whadja get,” inquired Jesse.

 

“Cyndi Lauper,” she answered.

 

“Aw, man! Why not Thriller? You should have gotten Thriller…” Jesse was miffed.

 

“Hey, my birthday, my choice,” Willow argued.

 

“It’s a s-sleepover?”

 

“Uh-huh,” the redhead nodded enthusiastically. “my mom is making onion dip and Fritos – she has a secret recipe and everything. Oh! And my cake is gonna be an ice cream one from Baskin Robbins!”

 

“Are you guys staying over,” Tara asked the boys.

 

“Yeah, sure,” said Jesse.

 

“I stay over all the time,” added Xander, “Will lives next door.”

 

Tara’s head drooped. If boys were staying over she had a feeling that her parents, especially her father, wouldn’t approve. Even if she could get permission to go, she didn’t have money for a present. And there were other factors.

 

“I d-don’t have a sleeping b-bag,” she shrugged sadly.

 

“You can share mine!” offered Willow.

 

Tara blushed. “I’ll ask Mama.” She could at least ask. The worst that could happen was that she’d be told ‘no’, and as that is what she anticipated anyway it wasn’t too awful to think about.

 

“Great!” piped the redhead.

 

“Hey, Will,” said Jesse, “have you invited any more people? It’s gonna be a quiet party if it’s just us four…”

 

“Not that I mind,” Xander cut in, “more Fritos and cake for me… I mean, us.”

 

“There’s no one else I wanna invite,” said Willow. She glanced at Tara with a smile, taking the opportunity to review what the girl had brought for lunch today. Once again, she only saw a simple sandwich accompanied by a small juice box. She lifted her Jell-O cup from her tray and set it in front of Tara, who shyly shook her head and pushed it back. Willow responded by sliding it back over and a small back and forth started.

 

Xander looked over in time to see Tara once more pushing the serving cup back Willow’s way.

 

“Hey Tara, if you don’t want your Jell-O, I’ll take it,” he said.

 

“No,” said Willow, sliding the container back the blonde’s way, “it’s Tara’s and she’s going to enjoy it.” She gave the girl a look of absolute resolve, and Tara melted under it, accepting the gelatin with a shy smile.

 

“You could invite a few more people,” said Jesse. “Like, what about Mark Minelli?”

 

“I’m not inviting Mark,” sighed Willow, rolling her eyes at him, “because I know why you want me to and it’s not very nice and I don’t want to be mean to people on my birthday.”

 

Jesse’s shoulders slumped and his head drooped onto his chest. He poked at his sandwich forlornly. “It was gonna be so funny when he wet his pants,” he grumbled to himself.

 

 

 

**Friday.**

**Pizza Day.**

 

Willow exited the hot lunch line eager to dig into her rectangular slice of cheese pizza and side of French fries. A carton of chocolate milk nestled in the corner of her tray. She glanced around and saw Tara already seated at their table. She scurried over and sat down.

 

“Hi, Tara! Did you ask your mom about my party tomorrow?”

 

Tara nodded, smiling. “She said I c-could come, but I n-need to show her an invitation first.” She still couldn’t really believe that Mama had said ‘ok’, but she wasn’t going to question her good luck. Although it may have helped that she didn’t mention that boys would be there.

 

“That’s easy,” Willow replied enthusiastically. “I’ve got one in my backpack. I’ll give it to you after lunch. My mom made me fill out enough for everybody, but I didn’t want that many people. I only want people I like and who like me. Especially, after last year.” She shuddered at the memory. “Never let your mom invite your entire class and a pony to your birthday,” she warned. Then she looked at the empty space on the table in front of Tara, and then glanced to the girl’s lap. “Hey… where’s your lunch?”

 

Tara wrapped her arms around herself, tilting her head forward, her hair cascading curtains in front of her face. “I…. I f-forgot it.”

 

“Hey, that’s ok,” Willow said gently, “I forget stuff all the time.” She really didn’t, but she also didn’t want her friend to feel bad. Her little brow furrowed with another thought. “Tara, did you really forget your lunch? Or did you brother take it?”

 

If it was possible, Tara disappeared even further behind her hair. Willow looked down at her tray of food and then back at the girl next to her.  Coming to a decision then, she pushed her tray so that it was between the pair of them. “Hey, did you notice something?” As Tara looked up at her, Willow reached down and carefully tore the pizza into two squares, setting one on the blonde’s half of the tray. “Did the world seem different when you woke up today?” Tara said nothing. “Like, everyone’s been excited today,” Willow went on, “because it doesn’t matter who you are or how your week as been so far; everyone knows when lunch time comes it’ll all be ok. Because it’s Pizza Day. And everyone gets pizza on Pizza Day.” She nudged the tray in her direction.

 

Hesitantly, Tara reached over and picked up the half-slice, bringing it to her mouth to nibble on. “Th-thanks.”

 

“Hey dudes!” announced Jesse as he and Xander joined them, each with their own tray of pizza and fries. He scrunched his face in confusion. “Why are you sharing a tray?”

 

“Oh, I forgot my lunch money, so Tara is sharing with me,” Willow answered easily. She felt Tara’s gaze on her, but chose to ignore it.

 

“You forgot something,” said Xander in disbelief. “You never forget anything. You’ve got a brain like an elephant!”

 

“No, I don’t,” Willow protested. “I forget stuff all the time!”

 

“Name one thing,” Xander countered.

 

Willow thought for a second. “I can’t,” she said, “because I’ve forgotten.”

 

Jesse bust up laughing and gave Willow a high-five. Even Tara giggled behind her hair.

 

The group fell into amiable chatter for the remainder of the lunch period. When the bell rang, Xander and Jesse both leapt up, and Willow was about to follow, when she felt a soft grip in her arm; she looked down to see Tara’s hand wrapped gently around her wrist.

 

“Tara?”

 

“You d-don’t have to do that.”

 

“Do what?”

 

“Lie for me.”

 

Willow looked confused, and then the light dawned. “Oh, the lunch money thing? It’s ok. I just figured it would be easier.”

 

“Easier doesn’t mean r-right,” Tara chided, her features a mixture of gratitude and sadness.

 

Willow’s expression softened. “Ok, I won’t do it again if it makes you sad.”

 

Tara would rather that Willow had promised not to do it because it was wrong, rather than to spare her feelings. But she didn’t know how to put that idea into words. Instead, she nodded and smiled a half-sort-of-smile, letting Willow’s wrist go.

 

The girls left the lunchroom together and stopped at Willow’s hallway cubby on the way back to their classrooms so that the redhead could give Tara an invitation to her party the next day.

 

 

**Saturday.**

**Willow’s Birthday.**

The doorbell of the Rosenberg residence chimed announcing another visitor. Willow came storming up the basement steps as fast as her little legs would carry her, determined to beat her mother to the door. Unfortunately, she wasn’t fast enough as Sheila Rosenberg was already nearby.

 

“Well hello,” she heard her mother say as she careened into the hall. “You must be Tori.”

 

Willow reached the door and stretched her arm out between her mother’s hip and the frame, grabbing Tara and pulling her bodily into the house exclaiming, “C’mon, Tara! You’re just in time for cake!”

 

“Bye, Tara,” her own mother called after her, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

Dr. Rosenberg turned back to the other middle-aged woman who had been left behind in the flurry.

 

“Hi, I’m Sheila Rosenberg,” she said graciously, extending her hand.

 

The woman took the offering and shook it briefly. “Hallo, I am Virginia Maclay. Tara’s mother…obviously,” she chuckled. “Call me Ginnie.”

 

Sheila’s brow furrowed in curiosity. “Do I detect an accent?”

 

Ginnie blushed a little. “German, ja.”

 

“Oh my, that’s wonderful. Is Terri bilingual? It’s such a wonderful thing for children to learn when they’re young. They have a better capacity for it, you know.” Sheila smiled broadly.

 

“Tara, she knows a little,” said Ginnie, emphasizing her daughter’s name and stiffening slightly. “So, tomorrow, I pick her up in the morning?”

 

“Morning, early-afternoon, whichever you’d like,” said Sheila. “Although before 3pm if you can. We have to take Willow’s father to the airport around then.”

 

“Oh ja, of course,” Mrs. Maclay replied, and Sheila couldn’t help but notice that the woman seemed oddly nervous. “I’ll be by in the morning. We have plans… family plans… for the afternoon. So, 10am at the latest.”

 

“Ok,” said Dr. Rosenberg, “sounds great. We’ll  have… Taryn ready to go by 10am.”

 

“Tara,” Virginia said again.

 

“I’m sorry,” said Sheila, “Tara, of course.”

 

Mrs. Maclay nodded and turned to go, stopping suddenly. She spun back around and reached into her purse, drawing out a piece of paper and handing it to Sheila. “Our home number, if there is a problem.”

 

“She’ll be fine. Willow just loves her. She was so excited to have made a new friend,” Dr. Rosenberg reassured her. “Me too, actually. It’s nice that she finally has a gal pal.”

 

Ginnie’s forehead wrinkled. “Gal pal?”

 

“Oh sure,” said Sheila breezily, “her other closest friends are boys. Alexander and Jesse. Of course, Alexander is ‘the boy next door’, so naturally they--”

 

“I’m sorry,” said Virginia, cutting her off slightly. “These boys…are they staying over as well?”

 

Sheila took a slight step back.  “Mrs. Maclay, as a child psychologist I can assure you--”

 

“It’s fine,” said Ginnie, catching her short again. “It’s fine. It’s fine.” She muttered the last phrase to herself. “10am, tomorrow, Tara will be ready?”

 

“Yes, no problem,” said Sheila.

 

Once again, Virginia started to turn to go, and stopped. “My husband may call later to… check in… make sure Tara’s alright. I know she will be,” she added quickly, “it’s just... he’s… Donald… he’s… old-fashioned. It’s fine with me… about the boys… but… maybe don’t mention it to him, should he call.”

 

“Ah, I understand,” nodded Sheila.

 

“I just,” Ginnie continued, haltingly, and Sheila wondered if she might be near tears. “I just want Tara to have a good time tonight. She worries a lot, my Tara, and I just… I want her to be happy tonight.”

 

“I doubt Willow would allow her to be anything else,” said Dr. Rosenberg.

 

“Yes, well, good,” nodded Mrs. Maclay. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

 

“Tomorrow, 10am,” Sheila agreed again. This time Virginia made it off the front porch and down the walk. “Auf weidersehen,” Dr. Rosenberg called after her, pronunciation almost entirely wrong.

 

Virginia merely nodded and gave a little wave before climbing into her little orange Mazda 626 and pulling away.

 

*****

 

“That’s the new sofa,” said Willow, eagerly dragging Tara around the refinished basement. “And that’s the TV and stereo, and Xander and Jesse are over by the game closet and--”

 

Tara pulled her hand free from Willow’s grasp and planted her feet. “W-Willow, I’m dizzy.”

 

“Oh,” said she replied sheepishly, “sorry.” She perked up again. “Can I take your bag?”

 

“S-sure,” said Tara, passing it over.

 

“I’ll just set it Xander and Jesse’s,” said Willow, carrying it over to a corner on the far side of the sofa.

 

“Hi Tara,” said Xander as he and Jesse returned from the game closet, each carrying a box. “We’re gonna have cake and play some games. Will has loads. Mostly because I keep my games over here.”

 

“Xander’s dad threatened to throw them out after he slipped on a bunch of Hungry, Hungry, Hippos marbles and fell on his butt,” Jesse laughed.

 

“It’s not funny,” scowled Xander.

 

“It’s kind-of funny,” argued Jesse, still chuckling.

 

“No, it’s not,” the other boy countered.

 

“You guys,” sighed Willow.

 

“Who’s ready for cake,” called Sheila’s voice from the top of the basement steps. That snapped the four kids to attention.  “Here I come…” she sing-songed, as she carefully made her way down the steps, plated ice cream cake with six candles glowing on top. “Are you kids ready to sing?”

 

Jesse’s eyes glinted, Xander and Tara smiled and Willow blushed under the attention.

 

Dr. Rosenberg made her way over to the quartet, crouching down so that the cake was at Willow’s chest height. “Ok, everyone, ready? On three, one… two…three: Happy--”

 

“Birthday to you,” Xander, Jesse, and Tara sang along, “happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear, Willow, happy birthday to you!” Tara sang the last phrase in harmony, earning a look of appreciation from both Willow and her mother.

 

“My goodness, Kara, that was lovely,” praised Sheila.

 

“Tara, mom,” Willow corrected, and then turned her attention to the girl, “that was really pretty, Tara. How’d you learn to sing like that?”

 

As usual, Tara blushed under scrutiny. “I w-was in the church choir back in Texas.”

 

“That’s really something,” said Sheila. ”Alright Willow, blow out your candles.”

 

“Make a wish, Will,” prompted Xander.

 

“Yeah, wish for a Nintendo,” urged Jesse.

 

Willow rolled her eyes at the boys and then glanced at Tara.

 

“W-wish for something that m-makes you h-happy,” said Tara, smiling gently.

 

Willow nodded her head, and then closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. Opening her eyes again she blew as hard as she could on the six candles in front of her, successfully putting them all out on the first try.

 

“Good job, honey,” praised Sheila, balancing the cake plate on one hand to rub her daughter’s back affectionately with the other. She stood back up and carried the cake over to the card table that had been set up and began pulling the extinguished candles out and setting them aside.

 

“Time for birthday punches!” crowed Jesse, taking off after Willow, who promptly screamed and started to run away. “

 

“Jesse McNally,” said Sheila firmly as she spun around to face the kids again. “We do not hit in this house.” She was so caught up in chastising the boy that she didn’t notice Tara curling in on herself.

 

Jesse pulled up short in his pursuit and froze. “Sorry, Dr. Rosenberg.”

 

“Willow, would you like to make the first cut,” asked her mother.

 

“Really,” asked Willow, “can I?”

 

“With my help,” her mother replied, gesturing for her to join her.  Willow grinned hugely and jogged over to her mom’s side. Sheila held the knife above the surface of the cake and urged Willow to grasp the handle along with her. Together they pushed the knife down into the cake, making the first cut. “Good job again, honey,” said Sheila, taking command of the knife and making the next few cuts, carefully serving small slices onto the paper plates nearby. “Ok everyone, come get a slice.”

 

The kids lined up and took their plates, grabbing forks as well, and each found a place nearby to sit and eat: Jesse flopped onto the sofa, Xander on the floor near Jesse’s feet, Willow on the rug in front of them both and Tara off to the side, near the end of the sofa.

 

“Alright kids, enjoy,” said Sheila, “I’ll be upstairs. Try not to make too much of a mess.”

 

“Mommy can I put my record on the stereo,” asked Willow before the older woman could leave.

 

“Sure, honey, just be extra-careful not to bend the needle or scratch your new record, ok?”

 

“Ok!” Willow carefully set her plate on the table and hurried over to the stereo system, picking up the cardboard sleeve of her new Cyndi Lauper “She’s So Unusual” LP.

 

“And not too loud,” added Dr. Rosenberg from midway up the stairs.

 

“Ok,” Willow called again. After pressing the button to turn the amplifier on, she delicately lifted the lid on the record-player and slipped the vinyl out of its case, gently placing it onto the turntable. With a practiced hand, she flipped a lever on the side of the player, and then lifted the needle-arm over to the now spinning record, carefully placing the sharp point on the edge and letting go, pulling her hand away. Static pops filled the air of the room at first, and then the pop-y sounds of “Money Changes Everything” filtered through the speakers.

 

“Ice cream cakes are so cool,” said Xander, “get it? Because they’re ice cream! So they’re cold!”

 

“Don’t quit your day job, Harris,” Jesse joked back, around a mouthful.

 

“What do you want to do after this,” asked Willow, returning to the table to pick up her own slice.

 

“Don’t you usually open presents after cake,” asked Xander, licking his spoon before digging in for another bite.

 

“Not until later,” said Willow, “after Dad gets home.”

 

“I th-thought we were going to play a game,” said Tara.

 

“Oh yeah,” agreed Willow, “what did you guys pull out of the closet?”

 

“I grabbed Battleship,” said Xander.

 

“And I got Connect-Four,” answered Jesse.

 

Willow thought for a moment. “Those are both two player games,” she said, “we should play something we can all do together.”

 

“Wh-what other games do you have,” asked Tara.

 

“Lots between Xander and me,” she answered, and began to list them off. “Mouse Trap, Candyland, Operation, Monopoly, Scrabble, Life, Risk, Sorry!, Hungry Hungry Hippos, Clue, Trivial Pursuit…”

 

“That’s a lot,” said the blonde, a little overwhelmed.

 

“Uh-huh,” said Willow absently, “Oh! And Twister!”

 

“Yeah, Twister,” echoed Jesse excitedly, “let’s play that!”

 

“Ok,” Willow agreed, standing and walking over to retrieve the game for the closet, “but I wanna play Hungry Hungry Hippos after.”

 

“It’s your birthday,” Xander shrugged, “you can pick whatever you want.”

 

“As long as it’s not Trivial Pursuit,” added Jesse, earning a firm nod of agreement from Xander.

 

“Why not Trivial P-Pursuit,” inquired Tara.

 

“Cuz Willow always wins cuz she has the cards memorized,” said Jesse.

 

“I do not,” the redhead hollered over her shoulder, her voice becoming clearer as she returned to the group with the Twister box in her hands, “I just play a lot with my parents so I’ve heard the questions before.”

 

“Yeah, but Will,” argued Xander, standing up as he finished his cake and starting to clear a space for the multi-colored, spotted mat to be laid down, “there are like a million cards and you never get an answer wrong.”

 

“I do so. I get questions wrong all the time.”

 

“Not when we play,” countered Jesse.

 

“With my parents, then,” said Willow, starting to get frustrated with the line of conversation. She opened the box and pulled out the mat. “Tara can you help me lay this out?”

 

“S-sure.” Tara set her now empty plate aside and walked over to Willow, assisting her in unfolding and laying the mat out on the floor.

 

They heard the basement door open again and four sets of eyes looked up to see who was coming.

 

“Daddy!” cried Willow, running into his arms as he reached the base of the stairs.

 

“Happy birthday, shortcake,” Ira Rosenberg said warmly as he knelt into her embrace. He kissed her cheek and then stood back up, settling a few pats on the top of her head with his hand. “Hello boys, having a good time?”

 

“Yes, Doc,” they answered in unison.

 

“And who’s this,” he asked, turning his attention Tara’s way.

 

Willow scurried back over to her new friend, taking her hand and gently pulling her over to meet her father. “This is Tara. She’s new in my class.”

 

“Well, hello, Tara,” he said warmly, extending his hand.

 

“Hello, s-sir,” she replied, placing her tiny palm in his much larger one. He shook it gently and relinquished it.

 

“Oh, no need to call me ‘sir’,” he smiled, “Doc is fine.”

 

“M-my Daddy says I shouldn’t call grown-ups by their first n-names,” she said sadly, ducking her chin.

 

“Well,” said Ira, kneeling back down to look Tara in the eye. “Good thing that Doc’s not my first name then. It’s my title. I’m a doctor, like Willow’s mom. So Doc is just fine. Sound cool?”

 

Tara giggled to hear an adult use the term “cool”. “Yes, sir... I m-mean, Doc.”

 

“Good!” he barked happily, slapping his thighs as he stood back up. Turning his attention to Willow he said, “I’m sorry I’m so late, shortcake, but I had to pick up your present. Are you ready to see it?”

 

Willow went up on her tip-toes in excitement, “Yes, please!”

 

“Ok kids, Willow’s going to open her presents upstairs,” Doc directed, “last one to the dining room is a rotten egg!” And with that he took off up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

 

“No fair, you’re bigger!” Willow called after him, already half-way up herself and quickly followed by Xander and Jesse.

 

Tara hesitated a moment, and then rushed back to where Willow had put her bag, unzipping the front pocket and pulling out a greeting card-sized envelope. Clutching it to her chest, she turned and ran up the stairs to catch up with the others.

 

When she got to the top of the stairs, she found Willow waiting for her.

 

“I didn’t want you to be a rotten egg,” she explained.

 

Tara blushed and smiled. Willow took her hand and led her to the dining room.

 

“There you girls are,” said Sheila, “Willow, are you excited for your presents?”

 

“Yep!” Willow pulled herself up onto the chair at the head of the table, usually reserved for her father on the rare nights they had family meals together. In the center of the table was a large, gift-wrapped box, along with a couple of other, smaller gifts – one wrapped in the comics section of the Sunday paper. Tara, Xander and Jesse made their way to the other places at the table, while Sheila and Doc hovered nearby.

 

“Alright, well, why don’t you open your friends’ gifts first and then you can open what your Daddy and I got you last,” her mother suggested.

 

“Open mine first,” said Xander, “it’s the one in cartoon paper!”

 

“Ok,” said Willow amiably. The items were outside of her reach, so her father assisted and handed the gift to her. “Thanks, Xander,” she said, before tearing into the newspaper and revealing the box inside. “Oh, it’s a Barbie.”

 

“Yeah, to replace the one I lost,” he said eagerly.

 

“You mean stole,” Willow chided.

 

“Well… stole… then lost. Sorry. But here’s a new one!”

 

Willow didn’t want a Barbie, but she wasn’t going to give away her disappointment. Xander was her best friend after all. “It’s great, Xander, thanks! Wow, she even has a separate change of clothes and everything,” she chirruped as brightly as she could manage.

 

Xander’s head bobbed with the satisfaction of a job well done.

 

“Ok, here’s mine,” said Jesse, grabbing his from the small stack and lobbing it so it landed in front of her. It landed with a soft “clack”.

 

It was a rectangular package, wrapped in GI Joe paper, but with a garish pink bow on the side.

 

“Thanks, Jess,” she said, and picked it up, giving it a little shake. Unsatisfied with whatever the shake did or didn’t tell her, she peeled the paper away. “A walkie-talkie?! This is awesome!” she beamed. “Wait, there’s only one…”

 

“It’s a set of three,” Jesse explained. “I’ve got one--”

 

“And I’ve got the other!” finished Xander. “Now we can go on secret missions and stuff and have code names!”

 

“COOL!” Willow was over-joyed. But then a glance at Tara tempered her response. “But, what about Tara? She should have one, too.”

 

“Th-that’s ok,” said Tara softly, her hair falling in front of her face.

 

“No it’s not, there are four of us now,” argued Willow.

 

“Willow, sweetheart,” said Sheila in a gentle, warning, tone.

 

“You know,” Doc cut in, “I think I have an old walkie-talkie collecting dust in the garage somewhere. If I can find it, we can set the channel to whatever you kids are on and it should work, too. How about that?”

 

“Really, daddy?”

 

“No promises I’ll be able to locate it,” said Doc, “but I’ll take a look later, ok?”

 

Willow beamed in gratitude. She turned to Tara, grinningly hugely, and saw her friend was holding an envelope her way.

 

“H-here,” said Tara. “I’m sorry it’s so little.”

 

“It’s ok,” Willow assured her. “Good things come in small packages.” She gently took the envelope and inspected the front. Tara had written her name in crayon, using a different color for each letter. “Pretty!” Willow praised, and then turned the envelope over so she could open the sealed flap, revealing a simple, home-made card inside. It was made of light-purple construction paper and had a pink and red heart drawn carefully on the front, along with the phrase ‘Happy Birthday, Willow’. Opening the card revealed a delicately illustrated bunch of colorful balloons and the words ‘Have a Great Day’ and ‘Thank You For Being My Friend’ across the top and bottom. Tara’s name was signed in the bottom-right corner. “Tara,” said Willow, “This is perfect! Thank you!” She slid off of her seat and gave the girl a firm hug.

 

Pulling back from the embrace, Tara asked, “R-really?”

 

“Yeah! No one’s made me a homemade card before. This is great!” She turned to her mother, “Can we put this on the fridge next to my stuff?”

 

“Of course, honey,” Sheila smiled. “Well, are you ready for the big box?”

 

Willow bounced on the balls of her feet and shook her head ‘yes’ vigorously.

 

“Ok, shortcake,” said her father, sliding the package down the table to where Willow was climbing back into the head chair. “I hope you don’t mind that your mother and I got you one big present instead of a bunch of little ones. But, we really think you’re going to like this.”

 

“And it was expensive,” Sheila interjected.

 

“Yes, but that’s not important,” answered Doc, “not this time, anyway.” He turned his attention back to Willow who was practically vibrating with excitement in her seat. “Ok, shortcake, all you have to do is lift the box up, you don’t even have to unwrap it.”

 

The box was tall enough that Willow didn’t think she could lift it as high as it needed to go. “Is it ok if I stand on the chair to lift it?”

 

“Sure,” he said, reaching down and grasping Willow under her armpits, lifting her to a standing position and holding her waist. “Go for it.”

 

She reached forward and grasped both sides of the wrapped box, carefully raising it up to reveal a brand new Macintosh SE personal computer resting on the dining table. She gasped, her jaw dropping and eyes as big as baseballs. She froze. Ira lifted the box the rest of the way off and set it aside. Willow had stars in her eyes as she sank back down into her seat. She reached forward and caressed the side of the monitor/computer with reverence.

 

“A computer? A real computer? For me?” She started gently raking her fingers across the keyboard and fiddling with the mouse. “Really?”

 

“Really,” smiled Ira. “We can set it up in your room later.”

 

“Wow,” muttered Willow. The machine wasn’t even turned on (or plugged in) but it held her captivated none-the-less.

 

“We think it’s a good investment,” said Sheila, crouching down next to her. “And you seemed so excited when the school got all those computers, so we thought you might like one of your own.”

 

Willow threw herself bodily into her mother’s arms, grasping her hands behind Sheila’s neck. “Thank you, Mommy,” she said, pulling back and reaching for her father who was already crouched and waiting for her to hug him, too. “Thank you, Daddy.”

 

“You’re welcome, shortcake,” he said giving her a squeeze and rubbing her back.

 

Retreating back to her seat she asked, “Can we turn it on now?”

 

“Why don’t you and your friends go back to playing downstairs and I’ll get it set up in your room,” offered Doc. “Then after you’ve played for a bit, and had some dinner, we can fire it up. Sound good?”

 

“Yep!” She pushed her chair back from the table. “C’mon you guys!” she announced, grasping Tara’s hand and pulling her back toward the basement door, with Xander and Jesse in tow.

 

*****

 

The kids spent the next couple of hours playing a few different games; starting with Twister, followed by Hungry Hungry Hippos and finally Operation – which they quit early when Willow noticed Tara growing increasingly upset when it was her turn, she was terrified of the buzzer sound.

 

As they were setting up MouseTrap Doc called down from the top of the stairs, “Pizza’s here, kids! C’mon up and eat!”

 

The four of them clamored up the stairs like a small herd of elephants and hastily made their way to the dining room. Xander and Jesse took the same seats as before, but this time Willow sat next to Tara so her parents could take the ends of the table.

 

Tara had grown increasingly relaxed and at ease over the course of the afternoon, early-evening, and had even started cracking jokes with Xander while they’d all been playing. Until the unexpected terror that was Operation, that is. Luckily, Willow, still so unusually attuned to Tara’s emotional state, had saved her yet again.

 

Dinner was largely quiet. The kids were minding their manners in the presence of the adults, even as they tried to ask leading questions of them. The absence of the computer from the table led Willow to inquire whether or not her father had installed it in her room as promised. He promised her he had and they could all take it on a test drive after dinner, as they’d discussed. After which, Sheila had to stop Willow from cramming her entire slice of pizza into her mouth at once in order to be finished early.

 

Once everyone had finished properly, they all herded up the stairs to Willow’s room, where Ira had set her new computer up on her desk. He picked her up and set her in her desk chair and then showed her how to turn the system on. The rest of the group hovered nearby, watching with rapt attention. Knowing his daughter already knew the basics of navigation, he showed her the software already installed, a word processor, REALBasic and a few other simple programs. Finally, he reached into his front shirt pocket and pulled out a 3.5” floppy disk with the words “ZorK 1” on the sticky label.

 

Pressing it into one of the disk drives he said, “And this is a text adventure game. You have to use logic to solve the adventure and beat the game.”

 

“Logic like math?” Asked Willow eagerly.

 

“Sort of… more like deductive reasoning.”

 

Once the program booted, he started the game for her so she could see.

 

The opening screen read:

 

“Now what,” asked Willow as she stared at the flashing prompt.

 

“Well, what do you want to do,” asked her father.

 

“Um, open the door?”

 

“It says the door is boarded.”

 

“Can I try?”

 

“Of course, shortcake, go ahead and type open.”

 

The following message appeared.

 

 

 

“Oh,” said Ira, “that’s right. You have to be specific with these games. Type ‘open door’.”

 

She did.

 

 

“What am I supposed to do,” Willow asked, growing agitated. She wasn’t used to not figuring something out quickly.

 

“You could open the m-m-mailbox,” said Tara, quietly.

 

Willow’s eyes went wide and she swung her head to regard her friend. “Great idea!” She turned back and typed: ‘open mailbox’.

 

 

“It worked! Thanks, Tara!” Looking back to the screen she wondered aloud, “I wonder what it says.”

 

“Why don’t you read it,” suggested Ira.

 

“Oh yeah,” said Willow, typing: ‘read leaflet’.

 

 

“Oh COOL!” Willow exclaimed. Tara, Jesse and Xander crowded in to read the screen.

 

“Alright,” said Ira, standing back up. “I’ll leave you kids to play. Bedtime at 9pm, ok?”

 

The kids replied severally and then became engrossed in the text on the screen as Ira and Sheila made their way back downstairs; each of them calling out suggestions for Willow’s next move.

 

They continued to play, or at least tried to play the game as the puzzles grew increasingly difficult to solve and more than once they got lost walking in circles unsure where to go next. But they were all having fun and Willow was thrilled with her present and being able to introduce Tara to a real computer.

 

Around 8:30pm Sheila stopped in and instructed the kids to start getting ready for bed. Sending the boys to change downstairs, while Tara and Willow changed in Willow’s room after Tara had retrieved her bag from the basement.

 

Once they were all in their pajamas, the group reconvened in the basement. Xander and Jesse had already cleared away the games and rolled out their sleeping bags in the middle of the room.

 

“Hey Tara,” said Jesse, “where’s your sleeping bag?”

 

“Oh, um…” she drifted off, ducking her head.

 

“We’re sharing mine,” chirruped Willow as she retrieved it from the corner where she’d stowed it that morning. She unrolled it next to the sofa revealing a My Little Pony design.

 

“No way,” said Xander, “you won’t both fit.”

 

“We’ll fit,” argued Willow.

 

“If you say so,” Xander replied, dubious.

 

The stairs creaked slightly as Ira and Sheila made their way down.

 

“Alright, bedtime, everybody,” said Doc. “We’ve got a nightlight plugged in over here by the stairs and we’ll leave the door open and the kitchen light on, too. Willow, you showed Tara the bathroom?”

 

“Uh-huh, when we brushed our teeth,” she replied.

 

“Ok, good,” he said. “Now we’re going to turn off the main light at the top of the stairs. We don’t expect you to fall asleep right away, but we do expect you to be settled and quiet.”

 

“We’re going to be up in the living room for the next couple of hours,” added Sheila. “If you need anything, come on up and tell us.”

 

“And if something happens and you need help,” said Ira, “come get us right away. If we’re not in the living room you can knock on our bedroom door, the first door at the top of the upstairs.”

 

Sheila was about to add one more safety item when she noticed that the group appeared to be one sleeping bag short. “Does everyone have a sleeping bag?”

 

“Tara doesn’t,” said Willow, “but it’s ok, we’re gonna share.”

 

“I don’t think you’ll both fit, honey,” said her father.

 

Willow adopted a practiced pout. “Yes, we will,” she countered.

 

“No, I don’t think so,” Sheila stated more firmly. “I’ll grab a couple of blankets from the cupboard and she can sleep on the sofa.” She headed up the stairs to collect the items.

 

“But that’s not as much fun as sleeping on the floor,” Willow argued.

 

“Oh to be that young,” chortled Ira. “Shortcake, floor or sofa, it’s still a sleepover. You and Tara can decide who gets what, ok?”

 

Willow crossed her tiny arms and harrumphed. Tara couldn’t help but smile at how cute Willow looked when she was angry.

 

Doc walked over to his daughter and crouched down to her level, placing his hands lightly on her elbows. “Sweetheart, it’s been a good day today, right? Birthday, cake, presents, friends. Most importantly: friends. And they’re still here, for you.” He was speaking firmly, but also soft and tenderly. He held her emerald gaze with his own. “Now, I know you’re trying to protect your friend and make sure she has as much fun as the rest of you. But you know what? It doesn’t matter if you sleep on the floor or she sleeps on the floor… you’re still together. And that’s what matters most. Right?”

 

Willow sighed, dropping her hands to her sides. “Right.”

 

Sheila chose that moment to return with a stack of three blankets. “Here we go,” she half-sung, as she draped them on the sofa.

 

“Here, Tara, I’ll help you get them set up,” said Willow, walking over to her side. The pair of them unfolding and shaking out the blankets and laying them across the cushions.

 

Xander and Jesse each hunkered down into sleeping bags as Sheila and Ira headed back up the stairs.

 

“Have a good night, kids,” he said as he flicked off the switch at the top of the stairs. The room went dark save for the warm glow of the nightlight at the base of the stairs.

 

The kids were quiet for a few moments. As long as they could stand it. Until finally Xander spoke up in a hoarse whisper, “time for ghost stories!” He revealed a flashlight from his lap, and turning it on, pointed it up at his chin giving is face a macabre, shadowy look.

 

“Oh!,” rasped Jesse, “I’ve got a good one! And it’s true!”

 

“No it’s not,” hissed Willow, “there’s no such thing as ghosts.”

 

“Are too,” he countered back. “Anyway, it’s not a ghost story. It’s a vampire story.”

 

“Those aren’t real either,” she huffed.

 

“They are so,” said Jesse, “Larry’s uncle’s neighbor’s one.”

 

“H-how do you know that,” asked Tara, nervously.

 

“Because he died and came back,” said Jesse. “I saw him across the street from the movie theater a few weeks ago when my parents took us to see The Monster Squad. It was after the movie, and it was already dark outside, and he was standing under one of the lamps.”

 

“You’re so full of it,” scoffed Xander. “You did not see him. And even if you had seen someone who looked like him, you just saw a monster movie… with Dracula! So it was just on your mind or something.”

 

“No, dude,” said Jesse, deadly serious, “I know what I saw.”

 

“You guys are such dorks,” said Willow.

 

“Well, you’re a nerd,” answered Xander, “but you’re our nerd, so it’s cool.”

 

Willow regarded him with slanted eyes in the dim light.

 

“Tara do you know any ghost stories,” asked Jesse.

 

“I kn-know one,” she said softly.

 

“Oh, tell it! Tell it!” said Willow excitedly, bouncing in her seat.

 

A sly smile creeped across Tara’s face, and she settled in to tell the tale – which happened to be The Golden Arm, by Mark Twain, and was one she’d heard her father tell on the few camping trips he’d taken her and her brother on when they were in Texas. She held the trio captivated, as she described the mean man whose wife had died and how he’d buried her with her golden arm. And how he was such a greedy, mean, man he couldn’t stand to think of all that gold kept buried in the ground. So he dug her up and took her arm, and buried her again without it. Then one night, when the wind was blowing outside, he thought he heard her voice calling,”who’s got my golden arm?” and the voice kept getting closer and closer on the wind, and the man was so scared he went and hid in his bed, but the voice was closer and closer still, until it was in his house right next to his bed. And the man had his eyes shut tight so he wouldn’t look to see what was there; and he felt the thing lean close and whisper in his ear, “who’s got my golden arm?”

 

Here Tara paused, and surveyed the other three, allowing a hushed silence to fall onto the room – so quiet you could hear a pin drop. She looked over at Willow, and could see her wide green eyes even in the dim of the room. Then suddenly, and without warning, she reached out and grabbed Willow by the arm and said, “You got it!”

 

And Willow screamed.  The high-pitched squeal of a terrified child. Tara quickly moved her hand from Willow’s arm and placed it on her mouth, muffling the sound. “Sh, sh, it’s okay,” she said, “it’s j-just a story.” She felt Willow gulp once, and then nod her head against her hand. Tara pulled her hand back, slowly. Only after they’d both caught their breath, did they notice the boys had been laughing.

 

“It’s not funny,” scowled Willow.

 

“It’s is so,” laughed Jesse, still keeping his voice as low as possible. “Your face! You should have seen it!”

 

“Good story, Tara,” said Xander, “you told it real good.”

 

“Really well,” Willow corrected.

 

“Yeah, that,” he said, shrugging, not quite seeing the difference.

 

“Everything ok down there,” Doc’s voice boomed from the top of the stairs, causing them all to jump.

 

“Yes, Daddy,” Willow called back, “we were just telling ghost stories.”

 

“Alright, well don’t stay up all night scaring each other,” he said. “Good night, kids.”

 

“Night, Doc,” said Tara, Xander and Jesse severally.

 

“Night, Daddy,” added Willow.

 

They heard him move away from the top of the door, and the room fell silent again.

 

“Guess we should probably try to sleep,” said Willow. Her friends mumbled in agreement. The four of them settled into their sleeping bags (or blankets and sofa, in Tara’s case) and, surprisingly, all fell asleep quickly.

 

Around three in the morning, Willow found herself woken by the sound of soft cries and whimpering noises coming from above her head. Groggily, she rubbed at her eyes and propped up on an elbow, looking in the direction of the sound. It was Tara. Willow rose up onto her knees, her sleeping bag falling down, as she gazed at her friend in alarm. The girl was lying facing the cushions of the sofa, her back to Willow; the blankets were tangled up around her feet and her body was shaking slightly.

 

“N-no, stop. P-please, d-don’t hit,” she cried, her words muffled by the cushions.

 

It took a moment for Willow to realize her friend was still asleep, and having a bad dream. Willow walked on her knees so that she was closer to Tara’s head. She reached out and carefully placed her hand on her shoulder, shaking it gently. “Hey, Tara, it’s ok. It’s a bad dream.”

 

“No, n-no,” Tara whimpered.

 

Not knowing what else to do, Willow crawled up onto the sofa and spooned Tara’s little body with her own. She stroked her fingers through her blonde hair and patted her head a few times, whispering reassurances, until Tara grew quiet and her breathing evened out, and soon they were both fast asleep again.

 

*****

 

The next morning, at around 7am, Sheila, still in her nightgown and housecoat, went down into the basement to check on the children. Surprisingly, all were still sleeping. Xander was sprawled half-in, half-out of his Peanuts sleeping bag. Jesse was rolled up like a cocoon, only his black hair sticking out at the top. And then Sheila spied Willow and Tara on the couch. At some point Tara had rolled and was curled up facing Willow – the pair of them clutching at each other as though they were clinging to their favorite teddy bear. It was an entirely innocent and sweet picture. Sheila assumed that Willow hadn’t wanted Tara to feel left out and so slept on the sofa with her. Shaking her head, and deciding to let the children sleep a while longer, she went back up the stairs to make herself some coffee.

 

Around an hour later the kids woke on their own, and trudged up the stairs into the kitchen for breakfast cereal.  Afterward, they all got dressed and, after some debate, decided to play a game of Sorry!

 

At a quarter to 10am, the doorbell rang. Ira answered the door and found a slightly harried woman on the other side.

 

“Hello,” he said.

 

“Hallo, I’m Virginia, Tara’s mom?” She was clearly anxious, gripping the straps of her purse between her hands and twisting them so they creaked.

 

“Oh yes, a pleasure to meet you, I’m Dr. Ira Rosenberg, but just call me Doc.” He extended his hand.

 

“Thank you. Is Tara ready to go,” she asked, ignoring his offering and brushing past him and into the house, peering around, looking for her daughter.  

 

Nonplussed, Doc took a moment to gather himself before answering. “Probably, the kids are downstairs playing.”

 

“Where is the downstairs,” she asked, already moving toward the kitchen. “Through here?”

 

Standing by the counter, Sheila was surprised to see the woman rush in. “Oh, good morning, Ginnie. Aren’t you a little early,” she asked, looking  at her watch.

 

“Yes,” Ginnie replied quickly, and pointed to the basement door. “Does this go downstairs?”

 

Ira entered the kitchen, hot on her heels. “Yes,” he said, “but--”

 

Before he could get another word out, Ginnie Maclay was already opening and through the door.

 

“Tara,” she called, “Tara, are you here?”

 

“Yes, mama,” she said, rising to her feet from where she’d been seated on the floor with the others. Xander, Jesse and Willow looked up in alarm at the woman they’d never seen before.

 

“Erhalte deine Sachen. Wir müssen jetzt gehen,” said her mother.

 

“Aber wir spielen ein spiel,” answered Tara.

 

“Es tut mir Leid,” said Ginnie, “Aber wir müssen gehen. Schnell.”

 

“Weiso,” asked Tara.

 

“Keine Fragen,” said her mother firmly, obviously agitated, “deine Sachen. Jetzt. Schnell, schnell.”

 

“Ja, ok, mama,” Tara replied sadly. She walked over to where her bag was sitting and picked it up. Moving back toward her mother, she gestured for Willow to stand.

 

“Mama, das ist Willow,” she said. Willow gave a weak little wave.

 

Ginnie managed a smile. “Hallo, Willow. Thank you for taking care of my Tara last night.”

 

“Bitte,” Willow replied with a smile.

 

Ginnie eyes widened, she looked to Tara and back to Willow. “Sprichst du Deutsch?”

 

“Huh?” asked Willow, out of her depth.

 

“I t-taught her some words,” explained Tara.

 

“I see,” said Ginnie, “that was nice of you. But we must go. Say goodbye.”

 

“Bye, Tara,” said Willow, giving her a hug. “thanks for spending my birthday with me.”

 

“Th-Thanks for inviting me,” she replied, pulling back. She raised a hand and waved to the boys, “bye g-guys.”

 

“Bye, Tara,” said Jesse.

 

“Bye, Tara, see you at school,” said Xander.

 

Ginnie took Tara’s hand and led her back up the stairs where they were met by Ira and Sheila in the kitchen.

 

“Thank you so much for having her,” said Ginnie, “but we must go now.” She continued to pull Tara along behind her as they made their way back to the front door.

 

“Yes, of course,” said Sheila, her brow furrowed as she followed after them, Ira at her side. “She was perfectly behaved. Willow enjoyed having her.”

 

“So did we,” added Ira.

 

“Good, good,” said Ginnie, opening the front door ahead of her and marching through, her pace unchanged.

 

“She’s welcome back anytime,” said Sheila.

 

“Good, thank you,” Ginnie replied, her anxiety increasing.

 

“Mrs. Maclay,” Ira said firmly, “please stop a moment.” The woman pulled up short, turning back to face the Rosenbergs, pulling Tara behind her in the process.  “Is everything alright?” Ira glanced over her shoulder to the Mazda parked at the curb and spied what appeared to be a sullen, blonde, teenage boy sitting in the front seat. “Did we do something wrong?”

 

“Nein, ah, no, no not at all,” spoke Ginnie quickly, “we’re late for…” she searched for the words and not finding them merely reiterated, “we’re late.”

 

Ira shifted on his feet. Something didn’t feel right. He took a moment to really look at the woman standing in front of him. She was slightly gaunt, dark circles were smudged under her eyes, and her dress hung loosely on a wiry frame. Glancing at her arms he noticed the hint of a yellow bruise near the edge of a rolled up sleeve.  He looked up into her eyes again. “Virginia, do you need help?”

 

“No,” she replied, “just in a hurry, tight schedule.”

 

“That’s not what I--”

 

“Thank you again, goodbye,” she added before he could say anything further. “Come along, Tara, schnell, schnell.”

 

The pair of them headed again to the small sedan, this time making it to the car. Ginnie opened the passenger door, and the boy in the front seat leaned forward so Tara could climb into the back; walking around to the driver’s side, Ginnie climbed in quickly, and after some settling, turned the key and drove swiftly away.

 

The Rosenbergs watched the car as it rode away, turning right at the end of the block. The married couple shared a look, and then went back inside the house.

 

 

**Monday.**

Willow made it to the lunch table first, her eyes scanning the crowd waiting for her friends to appear. She was excited to see Tara – her father had located the old walkie-talkie and she had it in her book-bag to give to her. Xander made it to the table next, followed by Jesse, but Tara still hadn’t shown. After eating for a few minutes, she couldn’t hold her curiosity back any longer.

 

“Hey Jesse, is Tara in school today,” she asked.

 

“No, I think she’s home sick or something,” he replied absently as he bit into a Fruit Roll-Up.

 

“Oh,” she replied, a worry-line creasing her forehead.

 

**Tuesday.**

 

Willow practically ran to the table once she saw Jesse was already seated there. Jesse, but no Tara. Still.

 

“Is Tara here,” she asked, setting her tray down in front of her.

 

“Nope,” he replied.

 

She slumped down in her seat.

 

**Wednesday.**

 

Once again, Willow was first to the table, followed by Xander and finally Jesse.

 

“No, she’s not here,” said Jesse, before Willow could say anything.

 

“Where is she,” whined Willow, her voice a mixture of worry and frustration.

 

“Maybe she has chicken pox or something,” suggested Xander. “Marcie Ross had them and was out for two weeks.”

 

“Who” asked Jesse.

 

“Marcie Ross,” Xander said again.

 

“I don’t think I’ve noticed her,” he replied.

 

Willow drifted into her own thoughts. Where had Tara gone? Was she really sick? What about school work? Was anyone getting it to her?

 

“Do you guys know where Tara lives,” she asked the boys.

 

“No,” said Xander, “why would we?”

 

“I don’t know, I was just asking,” she replied huffily, and stabbed a cubed carrot with her plastic fork.

 

*****

 

The rest of the week passed by and still no sign of Tara. Willow had grown increasingly worried, but as far as she knew, her new friend was just out with a bug. But when the following week arrived, and then the week after, and still Tara wasn’t in school, Willow didn’t know what to think. Finally, Jesse arrived to the lunch table with an answer.

 

“She moved,” he said.

 

“She moved? Where,” asked Willow.

 

“I don’t know,” he replied. “I just asked Mrs. Pickens where she was and she said she’d moved.”

 

“But Tara never said anything about moving,” she argued. “Wouldn’t she have said something at my party?”

 

“I don’t know,” sighed Jesse, “maybe she didn’t know.”

 

“How do you not know that you’re moving,” Willow inquired, incredulous.

 

“I don’t know,” he answered again, clearly tired of the constant questions.

 

**October.**

**The week before Halloween.**

**Parent Teacher Night.**

 

Parents and students (but mostly parents) wove their way through the halls of Sunnydale Elementary school after-hours. A general welcome had just ended in the gymnasium, and now the families were making their way to individual classrooms.

 

In the hall outside of the first grade rooms had been decorated with the students’ artwork, including the portraits they had done of each other a few weeks back in September.

 

Ira and Sheila scanned the rows of crayon faces looking for one that resembled their daughter, not finding it easily, Ira crouched down to Willow’s level, where she was standing next to him.

 

“Where’s your picture, shortcake,” he asked.

 

“Right there,” she said, pointing to her picture of Tara. “I drew Tara.”

 

“Who drew you,” asked Sheila.

 

“Tara did,” she answered.

 

“Well, where’s Tara’s picture of you,” her mother asked, patiently.

 

Willow looked up at the wall, scrutinizing it closely. It wasn’t there. Tara’s drawing was missing. “It’s not here,” she said. “But, I saw her turn it in.” She looked to her father, concerned.

 

“Maybe it just got misplaced,” he suggested. “There are a lot of you kids.”

 

“Maybe,” she echoed, unconvinced.

 

**December.**

**Wednesday.**

**Last Day of School Before Winter Break.**

 

Willow gazed at the paper in front of her, her drawing of Tara smiled back. She missed her friend. Even though she’d only known her for a week, something about her made her special. Willow knew it. They were supposed to be friends. But Tara was gone and Willow didn’t know how to reach her. It was the last day of school, and the last night of Hanukkah. Even though she’d gotten some nice presents and even though Xander and Jesse were crowing their excitement at having the next 2 weeks off, she just couldn’t match their enthusiasm.

 

She missed Tara too much.

 

When she got home after school that day, she immediately went to her room and reverently pinned her drawing of Tara above her desk, next to the birthday card the blonde had given her (she’d moved it from the fridge to her room a few weeks after Tara had stopped coming to school).

 

She wasn’t going to allow her memories of Tara to disappear, even if her friend had.

 

 

**Sunnydale Elementary School 1988.**

**January.**

**Monday.**

 

**Lunchtime.**

 

The diminutive form of pony-tailed, 6-year-old, Willow Rosenberg – dressed in pink denim jeans, a purple and white striped knit sweater and pink converse sneakers - made her way through the hot lunch line, clutching her tray close to her body. She scanned the lunchroom for her friends’ usual table and almost dropped her tray when she saw a familiar blonde girl seated there.

 

Rushing over as quickly as she could without spilling any of her food, she slammed her tray on the table and wrapped her arms around the other girl. “Tara, it’s you!” she cried. “You’re back!”

 

Tara giggled in her friend’s embrace, hugging her back, and then pulling away, brushing her loose hair behind her ears.

 

“Where did you go,” Willow asked.

 

Tara opened her lunch bag and pulled out a sandwich, and apple, a small baggy of carrots and a baggy of goldfish crackers as well as a juice box. “M-mama and Daddy got d-divorced, and so we had to g-go away for a while.”

 

“Oh,” said Willow, her brow furrowing. “I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s okay,” Tara replied. “Daddy’s stationed somewhere else n-now, so we could c-come back.” She looked down at her hands a moment, adding, “Donny w-went with him.”

 

“So it’s just you and your mom,” queried Willow.

 

“Yeah,” Tara shrugged, and then smiled. “It’s n-nice. She’s teaching me more German so I can t-teach you, too.”

 

“I really missed you,” said Willow sincerely.

 

“I m-missed you, too,” said Tara. “I still h-have that picture of your hair... and your face. The o-one I drew?”

 

“I wondered where it was!” Willow exclaimed, and then settled down. “I have my picture of you, too. It’s in my room. Oh! And your walkie-talkie!”

 

Tara was about to reply when she noticed Xander and Jesse approaching the table.

 

“But it doesn’t make any sense,” said Xander, “robots can’t have babies.”

 

“It doesn’t have to make sense,” argued Jesse, “it was a movie, dude.”

 

“What were those little ships doing there anyway? And why were they fixing the building?” Xander huffed.

 

“Because if they hadn’t then there wouldn’t have been a movie,” countered the other boy.

 

“But where did the other spaceships come from,” grumbled Xander. He glanced at the two girls as he sat down. “Oh, hi, Tara.” Suddenly he realized what he’d said and to whom. “Tara! You’re back!”

 

Jesse, who knew this as she was back in his class, was less excited, but not less pleased. “Yeah, she came back this morning.” He opened his lunch bag and pulled out a cheese sandwich, taking a bite. “And it doesn’t matter,” he said, mouthful.

 

“It so matters!” countered Willow angrily.

 

“Not Tara, she matters,” he clarified, and then looked at Xander, “it doesn’t matter where the other spaceships came from.”

 

Leaving the boys to their debate, Willow turned back to Tara. “Do you wanna sleep over this weekend? I bet my mom would be ok with it.”

 

“M-Mine too,” smiled Tara. Willow beamed.

 

The girls settled in to their lunches as the boys continued to argue. Willow couldn’t help but feel that 1988 was going to be a really awesome year.

 

 

The End.

 

_*In 2005 new evidence was discovered that confirmed (for the most part) that the Mona Lisa was indeed the portrait of the wife of Francesco del Giocondo._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Willow and Tara and other characters borrowed from the television show Buffy: the Vampire Slayer are the property of their creator, Joss Whedon, and his affiliates, Mutant Enemy, Warner Brothers and Dark Horse Comics. The characters may not belong to me, but this story does. Please don’t plagiarize.


End file.
